


Interim

by Vivian



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Genderqueer Character, Jötunn Loki, Loki emotions towards Asgard & Thor, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shapeshifter Loki (Marvel), Thor/Loki is only hinted at, porn but also character study, trashy Grandmaster is trashy (we can only ever aspire to be him)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 09:44:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15240654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vivian/pseuds/Vivian
Summary: “Mhm. Want to, uh, throw me off the roof?”Loki smiles. They both know he might. They also know he’d die if he failed. It’s part of the charm.“Whyever would you say something like that?” Loki soothes and bares his throat. The Grandmaster’s gaze dips, then he lifts a hand to caress the revealed skin and Loki moves into the touch.“Closer,” Loki murmurs.The Grandmaster obeys, until his fingertips dance over Loki’s arm and his breath ghosts over Loki’s ear.“You’re in a mood tonight.”





	Interim

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks goes to my [love](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelas) for betaing and also for inspiring me by writing [Genos](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15126770/chapters/35074718), and watching Ragnarök with me, even if oceans apart, and in turn making me the happiest. 
> 
> Loki is genderqueer in this one, please be respectful in regards to that. Enjoy!

 

The polluted horizons never darken and the night brings no relief. Sakaar’s air remains wet, hot, the stench of rot and garbage still smolders from the day. Neon signs flicker through the smog that veils the lower quarters, reeking up to even the highest towers of the Grandmaster’s palace. A beat thrums out into the twilight, from where sweat soaks pillows and sticks cloth to flesh. Loki braces on the parapet, fingers crooking over the grime-crusted steel. It’d be easy to fall, harder to die. He’s fallen so often it has almost become a temptation. What an end it would be, here among the filth and debris, the universe’s wayside, known only to the disgraced and nameless. Fitting perhaps. Perhaps not.

“Dear, what are you doing out there?” The Grandmaster peeks his head through the balcony door. “That won’t do. Uh-uh. Come back inside.”

Loki leans backwards and curls a finger to beckon the Grandmaster outside. The man’s mouth turns down, his eyebrows rise, then he smiles. His slippers slap against the ground as he approaches. He stops, wriggles one leg as if to get rid of something sticking to his sole, then turns his gaze back to Loki. He tilts his head, eyes lidded. “Mhm. Want to, uh, throw me off the roof?”

Loki smiles. They both know he might. They also know he’d die if he failed. It’s part of the charm.

“Whyever would you say something like that?” Loki soothes and bares his throat. The Grandmaster’s gaze dips, then he lifts a hand to caress the revealed skin and Loki moves into the touch.

“Closer,” Loki murmurs.

The Grandmaster obeys, until his fingertips dance over Loki’s arm and his breath ghosts over Loki’s ear.

“You’re in a mood tonight.”

“I’m always in a mood.”

“Thinking about that dead brother of yours?”

Loki stiffens, exhales, relaxes. “I pay that no mind.”

“‘Course not. You’re far too…” The Grandmaster pops his lips, stops for consideration. “Clever. Too clever. But if you _were_ thinking about him, I might get a teeny tiny bit jealous.”

Loki strokes down the Grandmaster’s chest, idly toying with the knot of his robe.

“Is that a promise?”

A chuckle against his cheek, then the Grandmaster moves back. Eons fold behind his lazy smirk, a mind made sluggish by the contortion of time. All meaning bleeds from mere minutes, moments are nothing but dust. Chaos. Somewhere Loki thrives. There’s a strange logic to it all, a balance midst the storm where no winds hail thunder and no lightning strikes. Here, where neither his brother nor his sister may reach him. Thor. His name cuts through Loki’s thoughts, clear like morning over Bilskirnir.

“Now, now, don’t be rude.” The Grandmaster’s eyes narrow.

Loki swallows, tautens magic and focus alike, and presses his lips to the Grandmaster’s. Blue paint smears over his mouth as they move. Heat gathers at the back of Loki’s neck, his knees, his thighs, and _between_ them—

“What are you today?” The Grandmaster murmurs as he draws his lips over Loki’s cheekbones, leaving a blue paint trail.

“I don’t know yet.”

Long fingers press down his pelvis, into his trousers, and hook where he opens his legs for him.

“So sweet,” the Grandmaster purs.

Loki wants it both, the slow thrill of arousal, the easy glide, maddening in its rare fulfillment, and the hard, heady, quick release that never quite reaches the heights of more careful pleasures. But first, he wants it simple.

He inhales sharply and lets the Grandmaster’s fingers glide into him smoothly. He spreads his legs wider.

“You feel good, sweetheart.”

Loki bends forward, wrapping his arms around the Grandmaster’s shoulders, pulling him close enough to stare behind him where crags of steel carve into the sky. The fingers move, twist and stretch. He moans quietly and cants his hips forward. The Grandmaster slips his fingers out, rubs against Loki with his thumb until he shivers beneath the touch. He wants him. He wants all thought blackened by the slide of flesh, doesn’t want to think of her, or the bridge, how they fell and Thor’s eyes just before, giving him a look he’s known all his life, that says _argr_ and _seiðkona_ : Effeminate, witch. And _coward_. He digs his nails into the Grandmaster’s shoulder, leaves crescent indents in the cloth of his robe. The Grandmaster turns his head and their lips press against each other. Loki bites his mouth and the Grandmaster wraps an arm around his waist.

“Lets go,” Loki hisses, shoving the Grandmaster’s hand out of his garments. He doesn’t wait for him, struts forward, passing slaves and guests. The music sounds through the haze-filled corridors, red lights streak along floor and ceiling. The sleeping quarters are not far. Sentries guard the doors, they let Loki in with only a glance behind him where the Grandmaster unhurriedly follows.

The door closes and they’re alone.

Loki turns to him, something familiar and grim bolstering between his ribs, sprout of memory blooming into violence.

“Someone’s had a change of heart.” The Grandmaster advances, slouching but alert.

Loki scoffs and sneers. “Of heart,” he spits.

The Grandmaster tuts. “So _spite_ ful. Loving it.” He puts his hand to his mouth, licks Loki’s wetness from his fingers. The sight sparks fire along Loki’s spine. It’s different, sleeping with him, here where no-one knows his name. He may play at whore, but it carries not the weight of insult or disgrace. One may fall from the Grandmaster’s favour as quickly as one rises in it, but he’s not anyone, he’s played these games so often and never in a place as easily swayed as Sakaar. He could be anything here. He will be. His muscles loosen as he leans back and sinks onto the bed.

“Undress me,” he murmurs.

The Grandmaster leans over him, works his buckles with ease, and peels him from his leathers.

“Look at you. Pretty.”

“Say that again.”

“Pretty,” the Grandmaster drawls, hands cool against Loki’s skin. He shivers, traces the lines of the Grandmaster’s robe and unties it while he looks into his eyes. Cloth slithers to the floor. Loki reaches for him, pulls him down. He turns and straddles his hips. Flesh against flesh. The Grandmaster’s arousal presses into the crook of Loki’s thigh and it feels good. There’s no demand, no humiliation. Just two bodies in motion. He rocks his hips and spreads slickness over the Grandmaster’s hip and dick. A soft moan falls from the Grandmaster’s lips. He looks up at Loki with heavily lidded eyes while he palms Loki’s sides, then up, fingertips gliding over his flat chest to catch over his nipples. Just a gentle press, just enough to excite a sharp breath.

“Want me to…?” The Grandmaster nods between their bodies, then licks his lip.

“Not now.”

Loki bends over, clasps the Grandmaster’s wrists in both hands and presses them into the sheets over the Grandmaster’s head. He angles his hips, feels the Grandmaster twitch and sinks down onto him. It’s easy, it feels natural to do it. The Grandmaster is hot inside him. They moan and Loki bends deeper to kiss him as he sets a slow, but deep rhythm. The light dims, leaves them with shadows as Loki arches over the Grandmaster. Hair falls over his forehead, sweat beads at his temples, trickles over his throat. Their tongues push against each other as Loki thrusts down and the Grandmaster up, and he’s just Loki here, not prince of Asgard, not son of Laufey, traitor, pariah or brother. The Grandmaster shifts from his grip, sits up and then flips them around. A gasp escapes him as his back hits the sheets and the Grandmaster plunges into him again. All thoughts ease, he grins and yanks the Grandmaster closer. An answering smile lets him grab the Grandmaster’s throat, thumb digging into where his jaw connects with his ear.

“You like that.”

“I do.”

“How about this?” The Grandmaster’s hand shoves between them, rubs over him, until sparks ignite behind Loki’s closed eyes. He knows exactly how to touch him, Loki’s made sure of it. He breathes a curse in the old language, bites his lips and arches his back.  
“Move,” he urges, “and don’t stop.”

The Grandmaster obeys, fucks him with steady thrusts and watches, grin spreading wider as Loki becomes undone. At the end, Loki elbows his hand away. The Grandmaster chuckles and shoves his sullied fingers into Loki’s mouth, first two, then three. Loki sucks, tastes himself on him, while his own fingers work between their bodies. White heat, flares of red in his mind, magic crackling along his nerve-ends. He comes, he keeps going, feels the Grandmaster tremble inside him, holding back, fingers slip from his mouth. Loki sneers up at him before his eyes roll back and he comes again.

“God damn it.” The Grandmaster’s voice sounds roughened. He’s barely moving and tense, eyes glazed with a feverish sheen. Loki tightens around him.

“Okay. Stop. _Stop_.”

Loki laughs and slackens. “Of course.”

“You’re the devil.”

Loki smiles.

“So what do we do about that?” The Grandmaster exhales and slips out of Loki, gesturing at his cock, oozing with precome.

“You could fuck my mouth.”

The Grandmaster looks at him with something akin to affection. “That’d be nice.”

“But first,” Loki says and gets up, sweeping hair from his forehead, “I’m going to fuck yours.”

Magic sizzles over his skin, shifts his flesh until he can curl his hand around his own dick.

“You’re greedy tonight.” But the Grandmaster’s already moving closer, legs swinging over the lower end of the bed.

“Three time’s a charm,” Loki says, standing before him, caressing his cheek.

The Grandmaster seizes Loki by the hips and pulls him in. “This time, let me do the honours.”

“Alright.”

The Grandmaster makes quick work of it and has Loki panting in a matter of moments. He sucks and strokes, one hand sneaking up to press over Loki’s left nipple. Loki watches as his cock disappears into the Grandmaster’s mouth and all he can think about is being on his knees himself, having the Grandmaster come down his throat.

“Please,” he keens, “please let me, too…”

The Grandmaster moves off him, fingers digging into Loki’s hips. They’ll bruise by dawn.

“Come here, darling.”

They crawl back onto the bed and Loki climbs over him, places his hands left and right the Grandmaster’s hips while his own middle sways above the Grandmaster’s head. He licks the Grandmaster’s chest down to where his cock curves upward. He sheathes it with his mouth, lets the Grandmaster wedge it deep into his throat. He needs to feel the stretch and the sting that pricks tears on his eyes as he swallows him down. Fingers claw over his ass as he does, pulling his cheeks apart. Then the Grandmaster tongues at him, and what Loki had left of thought quenches as the Grandmaster pushes in.

All sinks into streaks of red, pulsing at his temple, scent of sweat and arousal, visceral almost, as he abandons all and gives _in_. He comes when hot, salty fluid shoots over his tongue, he swallows all by instinct and feels his own slick release coat the Grandmaster’s chin and fingers.

They collapse next to each other. Heavy breaths fill the air. Bliss shudders through him. It takes a moment before Loki comes back to himself.

His heartbeat slows. Cold settles over his skin, almost frosts it, proof of his Jötunn heritage. They lie in the dark, and the Grandmaster reaches for him. Loki allows it only to watch the Grandmaster recoil.

“You’re freezing again.”

Loki doesn’t answer. He gets up and walks to where curtains shroud the sky. He draws them apart and stares out at the city, its crests of garbage and lights flickering in the perpetual heat. He thinks of the breezes on Asgard, its mountains and forests and how he accompanied Thor in their youths to hunt boars and deer and fish in the ever-clear lakes near the palaces of Odin, their home.

It hits him with sudden ferocity. He will not see it again, or him. He presses his left against the window, feels it cool underneath his touch. He simpers at his reflection in the glass.

“Mhm. So awkward when you’re being maudlin.”

“Don’t insult me.”

Loki hears the Grandmaster propping himself up against the headboard.

“Come back here. Gimme a little love.”

He braces himself against the windowpane. Ice splits from where his skin touches it and spreads until his reflection frosts over. He turns around and smiles.

“Why don’t you come and get it yourself.”

The Grandmaster waves it off. “Too tired for that. I’m not one of you Asgardians.”

Loki’s smile stiffens. He walks back to the bed, snowflakes blooming in his footsteps. He feels like he might murder him now. He bends down instead, cradling the Grandmaster’s face on either side, like Thor’s done to him so many times, both in anger and sentiment. He presses his mouth to the Grandmaster’s and thinks of his dead brother. Then Loki turns the kiss vicious.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed it. Let me know what you think, feed my trashbag soul.


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